


What’s cooler than wearing the Victorian dress? Getting fucked in it, of course

by childhood_ruins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bottom Peter Parker, Crossdressing, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Simultaneous Orgasm, Top Quentin Beck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childhood_ruins/pseuds/childhood_ruins
Summary: Literally just smut. Peter’s in a skirt, but there’s no feminization.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	What’s cooler than wearing the Victorian dress? Getting fucked in it, of course

“Did you know women’s pantaloons were open back in the Victorian era?”

Quentin looked up from his computer, but Peter just continued talking and twirling in his dress. He had on a strapless corset, a white skirt with a ruffled navy overskirt, and a pair of laced boots—all late 1800s styled, of course. “It felt kinda weird at first, but it does have some… fun possibilities.” He snuck a shy glance at Quentin.

“Is that so?” Peter had Quentin’s full attention, earning a flirtatious raised eyebrow.

A blush and a smile competed for a spot on Peter’s face. “Only if you’re into it, y’know. I could keep rambling about skirt hoops and how, uh, I should be wearing some, but I couldn't find any-”

“Or,” Quentin interrupted smoothly, rising to his feet with a confidence that made Peter weak in the knees. “I could slam you into the mattress and fuck your pretty little petticoats beyond repair.”

“Jesus,” Peter muttered under his breath. For Quentin, he played up his innocence as an erection grew underneath his skirt; “S-sir please, these are vintage-” 

Quentin stalked around the room to Peter, trapping him with a very specific and very apparent intent. He couldn’t respond before Peter blurted out, “Wait!”

“Wait wait wait- I n-need to get these b-boots off first-” 

He stifled a scoff while Peter backed into the bed, wrestling with a pair of laced black boots the whole way down. Quentin let Peter struggle uselessly with the strings before pushing him flat onto his back. 

Peter yelped—more from surprise than hurt—and gaped at Quentin as he lifted Peter’s leg to slip off one boot. Quentin took Peter’s other boot off with the same relative ease. He gave Peter a look.

“Anything else?”

Peter glanced down at the rest of his outfit before looking back up at Quentin. “N-no sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” The trace of a smirk kissed Quentin’s beard. He placed his hands on either side of Peter’s hips, lowering himself until Peter couldn’t see him past his skirt.

“Q-Quentin?”

The silhouette of Quentin’s head went deep between Peter’s stockings, underneath his petticoats. A surprised moan escaped Peter’s lips when Quentin started licking his erection. Between the legs of Peter’s historically accurate bloomers, Quentin worked his tongue down the head of his cock.

Peter squirmed, scrambling backwards as Quentin buried his face between his thighs. “Que- Que- P-please, oh my God-” he moaned in shallow breaths. Quentin’s head bobbed underneath his skirt, taking Peter deeper in his throat on each go. One of Quentin’s hands cupped itself firmly around Peter’s ass through his skirt. Peter dug his fingers into the mattress, crying out weakly. His eyes rolled back and he struggled against the pleasure of Quentin’s tongue running down his shaft. Desperate moans dripped from his lips.

Quentin held down Peter’s hips as he submerged himself past the shoulders in the frills and flow of Peter’s skirt. He wrapped his lips around the base of Peter’s shaft, feeding the heat in his groin. His tongue went down between Peter’s balls, a groan of satisfaction sliding off his tongue. 

“Quentin, I c-can’t, it’s t-too m-mngh, much~” Peter arched his back against the bed, shuddering as Quentin swallowed him down. The tightening of Quentin’s throat as he started to choke sent sick jolts of electricity down Peter’s cock. “T-too much, Q-Quen-” Peter clawed at the bed, a hot blush burning from his ears down to his neck, then like pure fire inside Quentin’s mouth. Sweat forced itself down Peter’s skin in stubborn beads.

Each time Quentin choked, Peter cried out—weak to the vibrations. He shuddered, squeezing Quentin’s head between his thighs before he became consciously aware of it. Quentin lowly vocalized into his shaft, making Peter curl farther into the bed.

Choked from all sides, Quentin pulled his head back with an effort. He drank in Peter’s scent, pressing kisses down to the sensitive skin on his shaking hips. A grin tugged at his lips as Peter reflexively thrust up, craving the heat that was too much for him just a moment before. Whimpers trickled from Peter’s throat, and one of his hands found itself on Quentin’s head, feeling for him through the layers of his skirt.

“I’m here,” Quentin groaned, nuzzling Peter’s cock against his beard.

“Y-you’re here.” Peter swallowed. He held the side of Quentin’s face through his skirt. A blush burned his face as he mumbled, “Can you k-keep going, p-please?” 

Quentin cheekily kissed the base of Peter’s shaft. “Oh? I thought I was too much for you.”

“Babe, I can barely hear you,” Peter laughed breathlessly. 

Quentin rolled his eyes and slunk back, pulling his head out from between Peter’s legs. He looked every bit a monster and every bit a heartthrob; white dress shirt half-unbuttoned, red lips connected to Peter’s cock with a thin string of pre-cum, and disheveled strands of hair framing his face. Coldly, his half-lidded dark eyes locked onto Peter’s. 

“I said,” Quentin growled, crawling on top of Peter, “I thought I was ‘too much’ for you, hmm?” Peter scrambled backwards, heart thudding as Quentin continued with a fanged smirk. “Or are you changing your mind?”

Peter gaped at Quentin while he trapped him against the bed. “I hate you,” he whined. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Quentin stole a kiss, the taste of Peter’s cock fresh on his lips. Peter whimpered, desperately bucking his hips up into Quentin’s jeans. A hard breath left Peter’s chest as Quentin bit his neck, deft fingers slipping to the back of his corset.

“F-fuck,” Peter moaned, shakily pressing himself into Quentin. “Fuck you.”

Quentin smiled at Peter with way too much of a flirtatious light in his eyes. He carded a hand through Peter’s hair, drawing a shaky hum from his pout. “Brat.”

“That makes two of us,” Peter muttered while Quentin loosened the last few strings of his corset. His erection ached, standing straight underneath his skirt.

“Whatever you say, honey.”

Peter whined as Quentin finally got the corset off, tossing it to the side. He melted at Quentin’s fingers tracing temptations down his too-sensitive skin, drawing one yearning moan after another from parted lips. Quentin teased the waist of Peter’s skirt just to make him shudder.

Desperately, Peter grabbed for Quentin’s face. “Kiss me,” he begged. 

Quentin hovered his face over Peter’s, holding his hips and his gaze in equal intensity. He dropped a gentle kiss to Peter’s nose, then his eyes, then his cheeks- everywhere but his lips.

“Quentin~” Peter let out a pathetic noise while he tried to catch Quentin’s lips with his own, but couldn’t. He held Quentin’s face with both hands, meeting playful blue eyes with pleading brown eyes.

An adoring smirk graced Quentin’s beard. He brushed Peter’s pink cheek with one hand before lifting his face. Their tongues met a moment before their lips did. Quentin pinned Peter to the bed, leaving the boy helpless underneath him. Traces of Peter’s pre-cum painted Quentin’s kiss with something intimate, if not salty. Peter couldn’t help but smile into his lips and slip his hands to the back of Quentin’s dress shirt. He melded their bodies together, glued by body heat and a kiss.

Quentin enveloped Peter in a close embrace. There was no space to breathe between the bed, Peter’s limp body, and Quentin’s dominant everything.

Peter let Quentin take control, feeling his bulge through layers of fabric. The kiss dissolved into Quentin sipping each tremble from Peter’s form. He slipped one hand over Peter’s, leading it down to his jeans. Still leaning into the kiss, Peter unzipped Quentin’s pants, fighting the urge to just tear them off. After an effort, he pushed the black denim down Quentin’s legs, then slid them the rest of the way off with his feet.

Quentin probed Peter’s mouth with his tongue. Peter managed to get his briefs off, too, desperately bucking his hips for some kind of connection. 

In a flurry of skin and silk, Peter managed to wrap his legs around Quentin’s waist. Quentin groaned into the kiss, his shaft running between Peter’s ass and the inside of his bloomers. 

Peter bit Quentin’s lip softly, sharing a moan with him. Quentin thrusted slowly against Peter’s soft, warm skin. The friction between their bare flesh grew. Whimpers trickled from Peter’s mouth. Quentin tilted his head, letting Peter suck on his bottom lip. He pulled his hands onto Peter’s back to support him. Peter and Quentin rolled their hips into one another's skin, drawn together by a pulsing, ever present heat. 

Peter panted, sweat dripping down his chest. The knot on his bloomers came loose, and they dropped from his legs. His skirt was like a sea of lace and silk on his lower torso. Quentin’s beard was rough against his flushed lips, making Peter’s eyes water with tiny tears. His erection ached, half-pressed on Quentin’s hips. Quentin, sensing his desperation, freed a hand and started to stroke him. A submissive groan left Peter’s mouth, going straight into Quentin’s. 

Quentin jacked Peter off—no teasing, no games, just the heat and the friction between his hand and his body. Peter gasped. Slick pre-cum smeared across his lower back, almost cool compared to the warmth of his skin. He melted against Quentin, full-body shivers possessing him. Quentin imprisoned him on the sheets, leaving no room to struggle, no room to breathe, no room for anything past the taste of flesh that was so sweet when it belonged to him. Peter loved it. He needed it. He moaned loudly without a shred of apprehension, pushing himself that much deeper into Quentin’s sweet poisonous touch.

A pleasured groan rolled off of Quentin’s roaming tongue. With a growl, he simultaneously started to thrust faster and quicken his strokes on Peter’s cock. 

Peter bucked his hips as best he could, chasing his release in tandem with Quentin. He threw his head back while Quentin’s mouth trailed down, sucking red bruises onto his neck. The rhythm between their hips built a primal speed, stripping their games down to nothing but carnal _heat_. Rough moans and gasps left each of their lips parted against the other’s sweat-glistened skin.

“Quentin~” Peter whined, rolling with his pace. Every breath to slip from his lips was a raw and desperate gasp of Quentin’s name. 

Quentin gave no response but kisses over the freshly forming hickies he’d planted. His hand slipped from Peter’s cock, instead moving to hold the boy’s waist. A choked whimper fell from Peter’s lips, but Quentin just thrust harder.

Peter buried his hands in Quentin’s hair in an unspoken beg. He dragged his cock against Quentin’s skin, pleading for the encompassing friction of his hand again.

“Patience, honey,” Quentin growled into his neck.

“Please~”

Quentin kept pounding against Peter’s skin, blocking Peter’s hands by trapping him between his arms. Peter grasped for himself desperately, to no avail. He whined as Quentin pulled his hips up, making Peter hold on to him by his super-stickiness. His skirt pooled over his stomach while his legs wrapped up around Quentin’s waist at an angle, leaving his blushing, begging erection in the open.

Quentin brought a hand down underneath Peter’s ass, stabilizing it as his thrusts got rougher. 

“You’re- nngh- a tease,” Peter huffed out between groans. He trembled, cruelly teetering on the edge of orgasm.

A breathy laugh left Quentin. Slyly, he kissed his way up Peter’s neck, licking a stripe up his skin. Peter pouted, lip trembling as Quentin came closer. The heat in his groin fried his nerves. Quentin’s lips found themselves on Peter’s again, licking him open against snarling moans. Peter pushed his chest into Quentin’s with a low cry—half defiant, half desperate. 

A shallow moan forced itself into Peter’s mouth, then another. Peter’s back arched, leaving only his shoulders and head on the bed. His skirt and petticoats fell from around his hips, entirely baring his waist against Quentin’s.

Quentin ran his hands lightly down the sides of Peter’s lithe legs—holding his thighs above his stockings and forcing trembles of whispers from Peter’s lips. Peter squirmed, the fire in his cock spreading to the tips of his fingers and the blush in his cheeks. He gasped pathetically into Quentin’s mouth while the urge to chase the friction of his warmth became unbearable, taking over Peter’s hips before his mind could react. Thrusts for Peter’s own pleasure gave Quentin heat to work with, as well. Both of their cocks stood red, begging for release over the other’s skin.

Peter fought off Quentin’s shirt, popping the last few buttons that hadn’t already been undone from natural causes. Quentin lifted his arms one at a time, letting Peter slip the dress shirt off and toss it aside, leaving the only clothes between them to be socks and stockings.

Clawing at Quentin’s back, Peter forsook the bed and clung to him wholly. He shook on the edge of collapse. As he fought Quentin’s lips for the prize of his climax, a feeling prickled every inch of his skin, strengthening rapidly. His muscles tensed, and so was the same with Quentin. Then, for a heartbeat, everything stilled.

A gasp left Peter’s mouth hanging open, pressing himself to Quentin with his entire being. Smoothly, all of his senses went black, letting him feel nothing but Quentin, Quentin, Quentin. Like nothing else existed—and maybe it didn’t. It was just _him_. Just Quentin.

The moment dissolved as suddenly as it had formed, and the world came rushing back.

Quentin and Peter came with a simultaneous moan into the other’s lips—and simultaneous strings of white onto the other’s skin. They held their position for a moment: Quentin kneeling on the bed with Peter wrapped around his chest; but as they fucked out the last of their cum, Quentin lowered Peter onto the bed and slumped on top of him.

Peter weakly trailed light kisses down to Quentin’s neck. He lay boneless, the beat of Quentin’s heart steady on his chest. His throat hurt from moaning, but he couldn’t care less. He sighed, melting into the sheets underneath Quentin’s warmth. They shared a soft, satisfied breath of closeness.

Quentin lay down beside Peter, and the boy rolled over to stay facing him. They looked at each other, at shining eyes and reddened lips, and smiled. Quentin ran his fingers through Peter’s mussed hair.

“Quen…” Peter whispered sorely, “I think Victorian fashion might’ve been onto something.”

A soft chuckle left Quentin’s lips before he pressed a light kiss to Peter’s nose. “I think you’re right, hun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Today, I bring you the Nth episode of “The Author Wants To Rub Quentin Beck On His Face”. 
> 
> Next time, who knows?


End file.
